


Acceptance

by amooniesong



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, One Shot, Other, Post-Season/Series 12, graveyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong
Summary: Before going to find her friends, the Doctor decides to finally complete the five stages of grief for a woman she loved more than she ever dared to voice. Clara Oswald's memory deserved to be honoured.
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Clara Oswin Oswald, Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 11
Kudos: 35





	Acceptance

Old leather boots with worn soles pressed softly against dew-covered grass, footsteps light and calculated as timeless eyes searched the horizon. The Doctor was an ageless being, an alien whose own roots were so lost in the tangled web of the Universe that even  _ she  _ was unclear as to her true identity, and yet in a moment as fragile as now she was so painfully human. It wasn’t that her two hearts became one, or that her body lost the ability to regenerate, but that her grief became so all encompassing that any alien tendencies disappeared. 

The Doctor remembered, painfully, the first four stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression had consumed over four and a half billion years of her life: repeating the same cycle over and over again until she had been able to break free of her prison - until she had faced the painful truth of her actions and had suffered the consequences.

Before she’d truly arrived to accept what had happened, she’d forgotten Clara Oswald, and had only been granted her memories back on her own deathbed.

A twig snapped beneath her foot, pulling her back from her thoughts and into the present once more. Petrichor filled the air - the telltale sign of early morning rain, clouds that had since cleared and left a blue sky with cold beams of sun filling the morning. The Doctor didn’t think much of the cold, didn’t consider the goosebumps rising on her arms as a sign that she should roll down the sleeves of her coat as she walked slowly between the small marble and granite markers. 

Graveyards weren’t really the Doctor’s style. She lived almost exclusively in a state of avoidance, running from the fates that met her companions for fear that she would be reminded of the part she played in their demise. Not all of her friends met such a tragic end but some - too many - did. The Doctor had continued to avoid the memories of Clara when they’d returned - tried to push aside the wide smile, the happy laughter, the  _ trust  _ that had been placed in her to get her companion home - but when she’d witnessed her own planet burning before her eyes it had become too much to continue to ignore. 

She knew she ought to return to see her friends, to reassure them that she had lived, to check that they, too, had escaped and were safe, but she had found herself making her way to a small graveyard in London. She’d been here before, during a time when her mourning of the Ponds had driven her into an obsession with Clara - to discover  _ why  _ she was the Impossible Girl. She had stood and watched her mourn her mother and now she too had been buried here. At least, she reasoned, there had been a body to find. Her family could be given some kind of closure. Now, she too, could find that closure.

The grave was no more or less obvious than those around it, and while  _ every  _ Human life held infinite value there was something about Clara Oswald that the Doctor believed deserved more. The light stone head was engraved simply:  _ Clara Oswald, 23 November 1986 - 21 November 2015. A mentor, a daughter, a friend. Missed by all.  _

The Doctor was hesitant in her actions as she read the words over several times, this wasn’t something she was accustomed to, but she owed it to Clara to try.

She reached out slowly with one hand, pale, trembling fingers pressing against the cool stone as calloused tips moved back and forth to keep herself grounded.  _ Missed by all  _ was quite possibly the greatest understatement the Doctor could think of to describe the pain losing Clara had caused. It had utterly shattered her, she had risked the existence of the Universe and of time itself to stitch the pieces of her hearts back together. The aching void within her chest, the burning rage in her stomach,  _ nothing  _ had mattered other than Clara Oswald. Four and a half billion years of sorrow and pain had driven her to extremes that she had never truly processed, and she felt herself somewhat understanding of the Master in that moment. 

It was entirely possible that she would have burned Gallifrey to the ground herself if Clara hadn’t been there to stop her, to remind her that what she had done in her name was no less than an insult. Clara was brave, she was strong, she was kind and determined to do what was  _ right _ , and the Doctor had no right to go against those values for the sake of bringing her back.

Clara was proud to die the way she did - proud to have died to save those she loved - and tearing apart the Universe to undo that would have been spitting on a grave that wasn’t even cold. 

This was what Clara would have wanted. For her passing to be mourned, but not fought: for her memory to be honoured, but her legacy not to be tainted by violent acts of passion. If the Doctor truly loved Clara Oswald, then she would respect the past. She would respect her sacrifice, regardless of the impact that it had on her own life. 

The Doctor didn’t quite know when her knees buckled, and couldn’t identify exactly when her shins had hit the soft ground below, but it must have been close to when her vision blurred and hot tears began to seep from the corners of her eyes. They fell freely, and with no one there to witness her emotions and no one to save the Doctor let them run. No sobs accompanied them, her throat tight and constricted and her grip on the stone tightening as she struggled to take in a shaky breath. The tears ran over the contours of her face, running to gather at the end of her nose as she hung her head low until they dripped onto the ground before her. 

She had a duty of care toward Clara Oswald, a line that she had repeated time and time again, but the words held so much more meaning than had ever truly been confessed. The truth had always been implied, subtly, her former self never particularly eloquent with words or emotions, but  _ actions  _ were something she could master no matter the face. The meaning behind every planet they visited together, behind every lesson taught and every decision made, it was  _ subtle  _ but  _ there _ . 

The Doctor loved Clara Oswald, with every fibre of her being. She missed having the opportunity to reach out and take her hand, to hear a witty one-liner or a half-truth about a classical English author, or just to see her face lighting up as they watched the stars pass by. Clara truly left her mark on the Doctor, and even after forgetting her it was impossible to deny how impactful she’d been. The woman she’d searched for without remembering her face, or her voice, just the very  _ essence  _ of who she was. 

“Who were they?”

Several things happened in the seconds that followed the words of a stranger. The Doctor took in a sharp breath, the cold stinging her throat and almost choking her with how sudden the action was. She brought her hands away from the gravestone and instead to her face, wiping hard and fast to remove any traces of tears from her cheeks and to dry her eyes to prevent any more from falling. Finally, she got to her feet and turned to face the person before her and offered them a smile (though she didn’t quite know where the emotional energy it took to do such a thing came from). 

“A friend.” The Doctor said confidently, blinking a few times before going back on herself. “My partner.”

“They were lucky to have someone like you.” The stranger told her, a comforting smile resting on their face. “Remember them.”

The Doctor nodded stiffly, watching as the person left her alone and she looked back to the stone that marked where Clara’s body lay. Clara Oswald,  _ her impossible girl.  _ Even after all this time, even after everything she’d forgotten, there would also be something to help her remember.

Her feet slowly began to carry her away from the graveyard, sorrow and pain replaced with something else instead. A strange sensation of comfort, as if she wasn’t alone, and a familiar voice echoing in her head.

_ Run you clever girl, and remember me. _

**Author's Note:**

> my first doctor who fic on this account (& first doctor who fic in about 6 months) - fun! if you enjoyed i'd appreciate a kudos or a comment (or if you didn't enjoy, you can leave a constructive comment!) & if you'd like to join my discord server (usually used for yelling at me & my fics, but also for chatting about fandom stuff) you can join [here!](https://discord.gg/KQySRNR)
> 
> i also have an idea for an adventure fic i'd like to write, definitely with clara (probably with 12, possibly 13, still undecided) & featuring the weeping angels. yay! hope to see you guys around for it!


End file.
